


Big Dramatic Baby

by Oshii



Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [14]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Devil Face (Lucifer TV), Dromos is Back, Episode: s04e10 Who's da New King of Hell?, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: Post season 4. Established Deckerstar. Lucifer is back from Hell and everything is back to normal...save for the mystery murderer terrorizing L.A. and taunting the LAPD. Weeks into the case with no break in sight, Chloe is at the end of her rope, so Lucifer proposes a luxurious evening out in hopes of lifting her spirits. Only, later on, a new revelation about this ongoing case comes to light, leaving Lucifer distraught and hopeless himself. So, Chloe returns the favor and makes him feel better. H/C, angst, guilt, devil face, reassurance about devil face.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505822
Comments: 12
Kudos: 131





	Big Dramatic Baby

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous Tumblr prompt:
> 
> What if Chloe is stressed at the end of a complicated case and Lucifer wants to cheer her up with a fun outing but his mood is fucky too so he Devil Faces and they can't get out? He feels so bad about it which doesn't improve his situation but tries to hide it cause he was supposed to make Chloe feel better! It was her night! She salvages the evening with ice cream, fuzzy pjs and a movie and tells him he should never feel bad about something out of his control. And she enjoys this all too.
> 
> AN: Any similarities to any actual persons or places is unintentional. Tan Tan's is made up, as far as I know.

“Dammit!”

Lucifer started as Chloe’s hand slammed down onto her desk, sending pens rolling and clattering. “Ah…Detective?”

She blew out a breath and brought her hands up to her face. Wisps of hair stuck between her fingers. “I just….can’t find a damn lead,” she groaned into her palms, sliding her hands back down and looking up at Lucifer. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and he could swear he saw her lip begin to quiver. “I’m so tired, Lucifer. Trixie’s been so sick, and this case…I haven’t slept, I’ve barely eaten—”

“Chloe,” he soothed, interrupting her with two steadying hands on her trembling shoulders. “Breathe. I’m sure Ms. Lopez and Detective Douche have found something by now, and your spawn’s been feeling better today, hasn’t she?”

Chloe closed her eyes, drawing in a ragged breath and sagging visibly beneath Lucifer’s touch. His thumbs rubbed circles into her shoulders, easing the tension. “Yeah. Yeah, she has.” Another sigh, and she lowered her head back down for a cursory groan, emerging with cheeks scrubbed freshly pink. “Y’know, you’re right. I think it’s time for a break.”

Lucifer’s eyebrows raised, and he murmured assent, continuing to massage the knots out of Chloe’s shoulders, smiling warmly as she sighed and relaxed beneath his ministrations. “Yes, Detective. You’ve more than earned some rest. Our poor victim isn’t getting any deader, I’m afraid, and while the killer is still at large, your sleep deprivation is certainly not going to assist in his arrest.” 

Chloe, eyes closed in total immersion and catlike bliss as Lucifer’s extremely skilled fingers continued to work out all the tight little knots threading through her trapezius muscles, could only _hmm_ in reply. “Mmm…yeah, you’re right.” As if on cue, she grimaced with a languorous yawn. “I should go home. Just a quick nap…shower…coffee…” She lifted a hand to cover another big yawn. “Large coffee…”

“Allow me,” purred Lucifer, lowering his kneading hands to reach for her coat and hold it open. “I’ll take you home for some well-earned rest, and afterwards, I’ll take you out for some dinner that isn’t cooked in two minutes on high in the microwave.” 

Chloe shrugged sleepily into her coat and reached down to reluctantly gather up the current case file. “I can drive myself, Lucifer, really,” she insisted, turning to face him with a sudden shy smile. “But I might just take you up on that dinner offer. Actual cooked food does sound pretty good.”

Lucifer beamed down at her, hands returning to her shoulders again, this time with quick affection. “Splendid. Text me when you’re sufficiently rested, and away we’ll go.”  
\--

Lucifer had been able to slip on the reassuring façade of normality with no real trouble back at the precinct; he’d dissuaded Chloe’s anxiety and assured her that the case would get solved and the killer brought to justice in due time. That was how these things always worked, after all, and he’d leaned heavily on the familiarity of the pattern during his performance.

Thing was, this particular miscreant had really struck a chord within Lucifer, one that vibrated with a certain insidious frequency deep in the baser parts of his being (the old, old, still-smoldering remnants of a being he’d buried long ago, nestled in its dark cavern of fear and hate deep down inside himself). This… _monster_ (as he wasn’t sure the killer could rightly be called “human” at this point) was good. Sinnerman good. He operated through a network of messengers and copycats throughout the city, had several hideouts peppered within various districts and deserts and neighboring towns, always seemed to vanish right when the police and FBI had him cornered, and always made sure to leave a bit of taunting parting words for the detectives at every gruesome crime scene. 

The motherfucker had burnt off his own fingerprints back in 2009; those were his last dated records. 

His DNA was virtually untraceable, his evidence extremely minimal, and his notoriety untouchable. Chloe had never worked a case this confoundingly difficult in her whole career; she and Dan and all the other detectives had been pulling double-duty the past two weeks, interviewing and tracing calls and staking out safehouses and interrogating suspects and following dead-end leads, all for _nada_. The LAPD had partnered with Reno and Las Vegas and San Francisco and San Diego and even Tijuana border officials in their search for this piece of human garbage, still to no avail. 

_I’m so tired, Lucifer,_ echoed Chloe’s voice in his head, unbidden, and he paused in the middle of tying his tie, 100% Giorgio Armani silk dangling betwixt nimble fingers. She had been working so hard on this case. The bags beneath her eyes had deepened to an iridescent lavender, and she always seemed on the verge of tears from sheer anger and frustration and exhaustion. And to top it all off, five days ago, Trixie had been sent home with a high fever and rash that turned out to be the bloody _measles_ , courtesy of whichever diseased classmate belonged to the local anti-vax idiots in the neighborhood. 

_Bloody hell, Detective,_ he’d groaned when she’d called and told him through tears that afternoon, _I didn’t witness the rise and fall and eradication of these ailments just to see them rise again in 2019_ , followed by a quick offer to find these impressionable morons and sort them out by way of demanding financial compensation for Trixie’s medical care, but Chloe hastily declined, claiming she was already stressed enough and Dan had already gotten hold of the parents and given them what-for earlier (i.e. threatening to get CPS involved if they didn’t get their kid vaccinated like, today). 

A cheery _ding!_ announced the elevator’s ascension, and he slid the tie home in time to greet his visitor, pushing away unpleasant thoughts. “Ah, Maze. I was wondering when you’d be back.”

Maze surged across the threshold, hair loose and toned physique rippling with unbridled infernal fury. “He’s back,” she announced, voice deepening to croaking Lilim tones. “Dromos is here on Earth.”

The old, old being deep within abruptly jolted from slumber. and more unpleasant thoughts resurfaced. “How do you know this, Maze?” Turning fully to face her, his eyes blazed fiery red. “How did I not know this?”

“You know that case you and Decker have been working?” She arched an eyebrow, teeth brilliant and white as her lip curled in a snarl. “It’s him. He’s the murderer. The one leaving all the messages.”

Lucifer’s mouth pressed into a thin line, mounting rage slowing in the wake of this information. Sinnerman Junior had been doing his thing for weeks, now, leaving behind a slew of artfully mangled corpses and taunting letters for the LAPD to follow, and Lucifer had been so preoccupied with Chloe that he hadn’t even caught that sneaking bastard’s sulfurous stench in the air! 

“I’ll ask again, Maze,” he growled, claws unsheathing, restraint tight. “How, do, you, _know_?”

She wordlessly dug into her pocket and tossed upon Lucifer’s coffee table a severed finger, waxy and bloodless and still wearing its owner’s silver ring. Dromos’s demon ring, the one only higher-ranking legions were granted after so many millennia of dedicated service and proven loyalty to their King. Without it, he couldn’t return to Hell – on his own time, anyway. He was conveniently stuck here, on Earth. Right where he wanted to be stuck. 

Lucifer would just have to find Dromos, then, and personally escort him home. How delightful.

His phone buzzed, twice, and reflexively he checked it. _You were right. A nap was just what i needed_. 

“Detective,” he murmured, vision still obscured by a hazy film of red and rainbows around the screen. 

“Uh, hello?” Maze waved a hand, impatiently. “Dromos on the loose? Bad guy to catch? C’mon!”

Lucifer looked up again, and this time his expression was not nearly as restrained. Human visage melted away to charred remnants of angelic flesh, furrowed and raw and red, eyes blazing brightly. “Then I suggest you get back out there and retrieve the rest of this _worm_ , Mazikeen,” he snarled. “Because I have plans, and you now have a bounty to hunt.”

Maze’s steely glare was unwavering, her jaw firm in resolution, and she said nothing as she pivoted and stalked out of the room. Pissed as she might have been, Lucifer was still her boss, so she left. 

Unleashing a hellish roar, Lucifer snatched up his empty scotch glass and threw it against the wall. Glass exploded in a barrage of glittering shrapnel. “Dromos, you scheming son of a bitch,” he growled, feeling the fire of his anger burning its way down his neck, his torso, peeling away supple flesh and leaving behind his true form. Dromos had returned to get his attention, Lucifer knew it in the very depths of his soul. Or, whichever term constituted the perceived visceral consciousness where his soul might be, anyway. Dromos was sending _him_ the taunting messages, not the LAPD.

 _Behold my finest work_ , scrawled on scrap paper at the scene. _Come and get me._

All it was missing was ‘my Lord’. 

Dromos wanted him, and he wanted his _praise_. 

This was all Lucifer’s fault. He should have remained down there, just for a bit longer. He told himself it was the paranoia of mutiny making him sense restlessness among the masses of his underworld, but he argued with the logic that none of those lowly demons would be stupid enough to try again, not right beneath his nose like this. He’d left Hell again after a mere thirty years (one month on Earth). Too soon. Much too soon, he lamented silently, and his claws came to tear away the ripped remnants of his Turnbull & Asser suit jacket, torn apart by his rippling monstrous form. Wings shifted beneath his shoulders, and with a resigned, beastly sigh, he flexed them to full extension, rage giving way to bitter self-loathing and contempt. 

This case, the Detective – Chloe’s angst and sleeplessness, the diversion of precinct manpower and resources toward finding this deranged maniac – was all his fault. 

Distantly, his phone buzzed again, and he looked down through altered eyes to see the screen lighting up with several missed text messages and a voicemail. Chloe was probably heading his way, he realized, and panic overrode the angst enough to let him half-shift back, wings tucked neatly away and claws sheathing. Dexterity restored, he reached down and grabbed his phone to return her call. 

“There you are!” Came Chloe’s relieved voice on the line, pitched high with anxiety. “I’ve been trying to call you. Are we still on for dinner at Prime?”

Her favorite steakhouse. He’d made reservations for seven o’clock. It was just after six now. Swallowing through a throat gone infernally dry, he parted cracked black lips to speak. “Detective,” he rasped, suddenly stricken with inspiration. “I’m afraid I, too, may have contracted the irascible illness that’s been going around.”

Chloe actually laughed at that. “You have measles too? Lucifer, I think your spots are called _herpes_.”

98.2% of the time, Lucifer would have appreciatively echoed her chortle at that joke. Now? Nope. “Please, Chloe,” he pleaded softly, and the uncharacteristic rawness of his voice caused Chloe to fall silent on the other end. “I don’t want you to see me like this. I fear I’m in no condition for an outing.”

A beat more of contemplative silence, and Lucifer closed his eyes as the shame intensified. Of all the nights for his devil face to take control. So much for promising the Detective a relaxing evening out. 

“Lucifer, you sound horrible,” she declared, the breathy anticipation in her voice darkening to worry. “I…well, I’m already headed your way, Trixie’s with Dan so—so how about I just check in on you? Make sure, y’know, it’s _not_ my kid’s measles. I’d feel super bad if it was.”

“Detective,” he sighed, grimace deepening with exasperation. “I’m afraid I must insist—”

“Y’know, at least…at least let me bring you some soup. I’m passing by Tan Tan’s now. I’ll get some of those dumplings you like.”

“Chloe,” he grated out, an echoing growl of the devil’s voice slipping into his own. “I _can’t_.” 

She went silent again, amid the tinny sounds of traffic and blaring horns in the background. “Okay, Lucifer. I’ll leave you alone. I’ll just pick up dinner and head back home.”

Lucifer’s vision blurred, and to his extreme dismay, he realized it was due to pooling tears. “I’m sorry, Chloe,” he whispered, ending the call and burying his real, ruined face into his palms, grateful only for the fact that Dromos, wherever he was lurking up here, was not witnessing his current self-destruction.

\--

Chloe glanced down at her phone, then glared into her rearview mirror at the asshole behind her tailgating and honking and flipping the bird. She was sitting at the green light. Pressing the accelerator, she lamented the fact that she wasn’t in her squad car, otherwise she’d happily pull this dickhead over and give him like five tickets. 

Lucifer wasn’t sick, she knew. He _was_ having a flare-up, she also knew – she just did – and being a big dramatic baby about it, like she hadn’t seen it before and subsequently helped him relax enough to change back. Yeah, at first, it was terrifying on a primal level to see Lucifer in his true form, bat wings and all, but she knew that the hideous, scarred-up creature that had lurked in the shadows of the penthouse that night was still her Lucifer. Her love. Fallen from grace, reborn from fire. Inherently good and noble and honest in ways that most humans were not. Roguish, charming, goofy, sweet. Hers.

Her giant baby who was canceling their dinner reservations and secluding himself _again_ because he was having one of his mood swings and didn’t want to deal. Normally, Chloe would accommodate him, but not tonight. She was well-rested, her kid was feeling better, and she was _hungry_. The case could wait one night. Not like they’d made any progress in the past two weeks. 

Tan Tan’s Noodle Bowl loomed ahead on the right, glowing with green and purple neon and flashing with enticing welcome, animated chopsticks digging into a ramen bowl on a loop up on the neon sign. She smiled, recalling the first time she and Lucifer had gone out for lunch and how he’d bought rangoons for all the pimply backpack-wearing middle schoolers in the building. “Th’ spicy kind’s th’ _best,_ Detective,” he’d positively gushed through a mouthful of crispy-fried cream cheese goodness. 

“Spicy rangoons and dumplings for two, coming up,” she proclaimed to herself, pulling into the lot. 

The drive through downtown wasn’t bad for dinner hour, and Chloe rolled down the window to allow a bit of fresh smog to tousle her hair as she accelerated to forty-five through the next green light. When she spotted the twin beams of light careening from Lux, illuminating the building and the sky, her heart picked up speed and the Lucifer-flavored butterflies in her stomach gave an excited flutter. Knowing that she was going to see his devil face sent a hot streak of fear cutting through the flutters, one that momentarily soured her stomach, but she smothered it with practice and rehearsed the now-familiar mantra in her head: _it’s just Lucifer, it’s still him, he hates himself and that he can’t control this, and he especially hates that it scares you. So don’t show him. Because you’re not scared. Not anymore. It’s just Lucifer, and he loves you, he’d die for you and already has. And you love him too._

Clutching the grease-spotted paper bags of Chinese food, she smiled and nodded at the bouncers (who had long ago been instructed to _always_ let her pass) and stepped into the pulsing darkness of Lux. Carefully, she wove her way through the milling, sweaty bodies until she reached the staircase. The crowd thinned out as she ascended, and the hallway leading to the elevator was dark and discreet. Nobody followed her as she stepped into the elevator, still clutching the greasy paper bag, and the upbeat dance music faded to a muted throb as the silver doors slid shut. _Ssshhhh_. 

_It’s just Lucifer. Maybe he’s gone back to normal now (this is normal for him, it’s his real face)._

The cheery _ding_ of the elevator announced its successful landing atop the penthouse, and Chloe jerked, having been lost in her reverie. There was no more time to prepare. 

The doors slid open, and she inhaled stiffly, tightening her grip on the takeout bag and stepping over the threshold into Lucifer’s home. Warm, rich, dark ambience greeted her, but there was no welcome. Lucifer was nowhere to be found, and the absence of his cheerful “Detective!” sent a stab of raw disappointment through her heart. 

“Lucifer? I’m here,” she announced, glancing around, realizing she was extremely on-guard for any glimpse of flickering bat-wings in the periphery. “I figured I’d bring dinner to us. Tan Tan’s.”

There was no response. She blew out a soft, shuddering breath, steeling herself. _C’mon, keep going_. The bar was empty, no Eve or Maze or Amenadiel sipping a scotch, but the crystalline bursts of light reflecting off of tiny glass chips revealed the evidence of a major hissy fit. Her trained detective eye took note of this, and figured the glass had to be thrown in frustration, not in self-defense. Setting the bag on the counter, she continued into the penthouse, peering around the shadowed corners. “Lucifer? It’s okay. I know…I know you’re having a flare-up. Come on out. I’m not scared.”

“I’ve told you, Detective, it’s not hemorrhoids.”

She whirled at the sound of his voice (finally), and to her utter dismay, Chloe still couldn’t completely suppress the tiny shudder that coursed reflexively through her as she saw his real face come into view. Red eyes deep-set and menacing in a horrifically burned face, monstrous with deformity and terrifying to the average human, emerged from the concealing darkness. This was the face of the Devil himself, of Satan, of –

of _Lucifer_ , her partner, extraordinarily gifted pianist and civilian consultant and honest poker player and best back-rubber in the world. 

“Wh-what?” It came out breathless, and she forced a smile atop the inaudible swallow of apprehension. Distantly, she recalled him saying the same thing at the precinct, but with his human mouth, the word _hemorrhoids_ shaped between soft pink lips, not the bare bones of the Adversary.

Lucifer stood in the threshold of his bedroom, clad in his black silk robe, but she saw that the burned red skin also covered his arms and legs, and were those blackened claws pointing from his bare toes? 

Dear God, thought Chloe. It wasn’t her first time seeing Lucifer like this, but it certainly wasn’t easy to bear, not yet. But bear it she would, for this she’d told herself and told him. 

He shifted, pulling his robe closer together, and yeah, those _were_ sharp pointy claws on his long, piano-playing, shoulder-massaging fingers. “It’s not a _flare-up_ , Detective. It’s my true visage, and I know how much it unsettles you.” His jaw tightened, and the red eyes fixed intently on her. “You shouldn’t have come. I warned you.”

Chloe inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. “Lucifer, we’ve been through all this before. Y’know, I…I’ve seen it – _you_ – several times, now, and it’s nothing you need to hide from me. Not anymore.” 

His shoulders hunched in a defensive shrug, head bowing in shame. “I promised you a night out, and had to break my word. Now I get to deal with seeing the look of horror on your face as you see mine.” 

Oh, yeah. Major dramatic baby mode. Chloe relaxed a little, recalling the soothing self-help she’d recited at him on the night of his masquerade party. “Okay, look. I don’t know what’s got you so upset, but, maybe we could talk about it? Might make you feel better. Make things…settle down.” Resisting the sharp urge to recoil as he abruptly glared at her (a full-on, red-eyed devil glare, oh wow), she licked her lips and pressed onward. “At-at least come down here and get some food. I got you your favorite spicy rangoons, remember? From Tan Tan’s. They’re getting cold by now.” 

“Who cares about Tan Tan’s deep fried cat food?” He muttered sulkily, turning away like a pouty teenager. “I’m too repulsive to eat. You should leave, Chloe. Go home and watch _Frozen II_ with Trixie and the Douche.”

“Lucifer.” Annoyance had begun to penetrate any wavering on Chloe’s part, and she took another step forward. Then another, and another, until she had climbed up to his level and stood toe-to-toe with him. Their eyes met, and although the blazing, furious red irises staring down into her soul did evoke a coiling thread of primal fear deep within her, Chloe set her jaw in determination and reached out to lay a hand against his bare chest, on the deep scarred furrows of flesh peeking out from beneath his robe. His muted gasp was anything but infernal, and the way he jerked as if shocked by tiny electric sparks made her realize just how vulnerable she made him, devil face or no. 

Touching the devil’s skin – _Lucifer’s skin, it’s just Lucifer_ – made Chloe’s lips part and her heart pick up speed. He was warm, and dry, but not scaly or moist or any sort of unpleasant texture. She wasn’t sure what she had been anticipating, but this was a little anticlimactic on her end, and that hand raised up to gently cup his face. The red devil eyes widened in astonishment, and his own cracked lips parted as her thumb traced across his chin. “See, Lucifer? I’m not scared of you.” 

Lucifer stared down at her, anger dissolving into heart-rending relief, the wide eyes softening and regret beginning to twist his destroyed features. “Chloe…” he began, so overcome with love for her that he found it difficult to choke out the words. “I’m…I know who the killer is. Sinnerman Junior. It’s…one of my minions. Dromos. The one who possessed Father Kinley.”

At this, Chloe did draw back, her own eyes going wide, hand retreating. “What? But, how—?”

“Maze is hunting him down as we speak,” he continued, blinking against the unpleasant chill left in the absence of her hand. “It’s all my fault, Detective. I should have stayed down there, kept an eye on them, those scheming, rotten scoundrels. Dromos is doing this for attention, for _my_ attention, and I’m a fool for not noticing his game sooner. I could have put a stop to all this before…before those innocent people got slaughtered in my name.”

It seemed as thought Chloe was still processing this information, and Lucifer pressed his mouth into a thin line, withdrawing to give her space. She was remembering the Mayan, the night baby Charlie got kidnapped, the sight of Father Kinley clad in a leather biker jacket with a band-aid comically covering the fatal stab wound in his neck, his corpse grotesquely reanimated by Dromos, the demon from Hell. She was remembering the feel of a hundred icy hands gripping her arms, on her face, covering her mouth, clawing at her jacket, pulling her _down down down_ into the writhing crowd of possessed humans. She’d been haunted by the eerie echoing of demonic moans for weeks, reliving them in her nightmares and shuddering at the memory while awake. 

“Dromos…” she breathed, testing out the name. “Father Kinley – I mean, is he still…still in him?” 

“No,” Lucifer muttered. “Kinley’s shambling corpse is quite thoroughly rotten by now. Demons without a corporeal form can’t possess the same meatsuit for long without it breaking down. Humans weren’t mean to play host in such a way. ‘S why I outlawed possession all those years ago.” 

The details of demonic possession left Chloe visibly reeling, much more than seeing Lucifer like this. It made him feel a tiny bit less disgusting to know she wasn’t as readily affected by his face anymore. “So, so you’re saying…this demon, Dromos, is back on Earth, possessing a new human, committing all these…horrible murders? Leaving us those cryptic letters, taunting us this whole time?” 

“Yes,” he replied, without inflection. “And Maze and I will catch him, Chloe. I give you my word.”

The promise in his words made Chloe realize something, and her hand hovered over her own mouth. “Lucifer…is that why you’re…because you’re feeling responsible for this? You’re feeling guilty?”

His eyes closed, shame burning. “Yes,” he repeated, this time more emphatic. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I should have stayed down in Hell and kept that conniving worm under my heel where he belongs.”

She reached out and grasped his hand. Shocked, moved, and awed, he opened his eyes and said nothing, only looked at her with wide and questioning disbelief. She soldiered on. “Lucifer, I’ve told you, you have to stop taking responsibility for everything. It’s not like you packed Dromos in your suitcase on your flight back from Hell.” An idea formed. “Who knows? Maybe he was summoned.” 

“Not likely,” muttered Lucifer, pulling his hand free and turning away. He’d meant to retreat back under his covers, to pull the silk duvet back over his head and pretend nothing corporeal existed, but Chloe’s hand once again gripping his arm with surprising strength made him halt. “Detective…”

She pulled on his arm, intent clear but results unyielding, but he did turn back to look in her blue eyes, hardened with determination and burning with love. “Lucifer, tonight, it…it wasn’t about filet mignon at Prime, or tiramisu, or Santa Monica boulevard with the top down. I agreed because I wanted to spend time with _you_ , and I’ll take you however I can get you. Devil face included.” She took a deep breath, and suddenly, her face brightened with a warm and genuine smile, so reassuring and calm. “You shouldn’t ever feel ashamed for something you can’t control, because I’m certainly not ashamed of you, Lucifer. And I don’t blame you for this.” 

Lucifer could only gape, awestruck as a fourteen-year-old boy, as Chloe lifted his clawed burned hand and pressed her blessedly soft lips to them in a tender kiss. The warmth of her affection seeped through to his bones, spreading like fizzing champagne through his fingers, up his arm, and to his heart, amplified a thousand times by each infernal beat until her love seared through his veins like healing ointment, and his human flesh regrew with the satisfying relief of easy breathing. _Aaahh_. 

Mortal brown eyes gazed back at her blue ones, widened with shock at his sudden transformation, and he returned a smile of his own, human mouth with human stubble, her gorgeous human Lucifer. The smile widened, and tears pooled with shining imminence at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Lucifer…”

“I love you too, Chloe.” And he bent down to give her a proper kiss to show it. “More than you could ever imagine.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, it wasn't exactly ice cream and fuzzy PJs, but it was fluffy and sweet balanced with mentions of murder and mayhem. Also Deckerstar and devilface Lucifer ftw. Ugh, I had a bitch of a time writing this. So much plot. I can't focus for shit.


End file.
